Tender
by therisingharvestmoon
Summary: Sheltering from the rain high up in the mountains, Loki finds a moment to be alone, and to be tender. Loki/OFC. Non-romance. Trigger warnings: mentions of rape/physical abuse.


Sorry I haven't updated my other Loki fics. I have drabbles on Tumblr too, ( tagged/fanfiction) but this one I thought was good enough for . I really need to wake up and do some writing. With that in mind, this is a little rusty, but I hope you enjoy. Based on a dream I had last night.

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The rain hadn't stopped pouring since he had set out, as he often did on his own. His boiled leather boots kept Loki's feet dry, but the black tunic and grey wool cape were drenched. He was tired from throwing his knives at the stupid beasts that grazed on the meadows on the foothills, and these mountains has a witchery that seemed to dampen his magic. He would have to wait here.

There was a drip somewhere in the back of the cave, but it was dry and warm, and he did not doubt himself to be able to at least spark a fire. Loki lay his cloak down well away from the cave's torrential maw, running pale fingers through his inky black hair, squeezing the water from it.

Then, a noise. His eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. Rats? Worse - giant mountain rats? What else scrabbled over rocks up here? He gathered the kindling - relatively dry - atop a nest of rocks. They would soon run from the blazing fire. But there it was again. Slowly, Loki uncrossed his legs, careful not to drip on the bark and twigs. He look a few silent steps forward. He peered into the darkness, trying to make out the dark shapes. What he thought had been a larger boulder seemed to have a rapid up-and-down breath… then he saw that it - she - had huge, terrified eyes.

"Who goes there? I am Loki, prince of Asgard. Name yourself." His voice was low, but echoing in the dark hole.

There was a hitch in her frightened breathing, then more pebbles moved. If she were affected so, why did she not run? She did not answer, either, and certain levels of insubordination meant death in Asgard. He concluded from one of her sharp intakes to another, that his title meant nothing, and she could not move for injury, lest this was some sort of mountain farm girl trickery.

Loki closed his eyes, and his pupils contracted when they opened, assaulted by the blue glow from his hand in the darkness. "Do not be afraid," he slowly moved forward, tall and lean and intimidating as he knew he was. The light glinted off her large, grey eyes and then off the blood. A sharp blade had entered just above the breast, through the shoulder. He knelt beside her, and what little colour left in her face drained. "You will be all right. I mean you no harm." He wondered what kind of squabble led to this? And yet, something rang darker than farmer's wife or daughter. She was not dressed like one. "What is your name?"

A squeak from her throat was all he was rewarded with. Loki frowned.

Perhaps she could not speak then? He showed her his hand, painstakingly slowly. She watched with fear, and curiosity. Slowly, slowly, he brought that hand to her face. She flinched as he had expected, but he kept it there, stroking gently with his thumb. Loki knew his face could be pleasant, so he smiled only a little, his sea blue eyes round and gentle. "It is alright. I know you can understand me. I just need to understand some small thing. If you will permit me…?" His finger gently traced her lips and her eyebrows furrowed… then her frown turned to a grimace of shame and more tears clouded her vision as the Prince of Asgard parted her lips with his thumb. She closed her eyes. She let him open her mouth, gently. He looked for half a moment, and gently trailed her chin, closing her mouth.

"I suspected." He said, softly. "I will tend to your wounds, and then you must tell me in your own way who it was who cut out your tongue."

She flinched in shame, eyes shut, as Loki scooped her up and carried her to the dry, lit cave entrance. Her hair, curled and long, was filthy and matted. He lit the fire, put on branches that had been blown into the cave and she shivered when the warmth enveloped her.

Though she was still curled defensively, she watched him and rolled on her back weakly when Loki crouched over her, knife in hand.

"May I?"

She swallowed, then nodded.

Cutting away the fabric, he was relieved to see that the wound was relatively new. It was a sharp knife, but a clumsy aim. What then? Perhaps she was one of those slaves belonging to some rich, drunken lord, those young women who were raped and raped, dressed finely, taken again and again. He frowned. It was seeming likely. She did not blush to be naked before him. He lifted her again, this time, her head lolled wearily against his chest. How far had she run to get here, bleeding and mute? He was glad to see that her teeth had not been pulled for his pleasure. It was a small condolence.

He lay her on the warm, wool cloak by the fire. He enjoyed the feeling when those below him looked up in respect, admiration and fear. He did not enjoy large, watchful eyes that were well aware that she was totally at her mercy. It sickened him to imagine what had been done so that was all she expected. While the rain water boiled over the fire in his single, metal bowl, he found the grain of fabric from the bottom of the cloak and tore off two large strips. He wet one, gently dapping the blood from the wound. Eyes closed, she grimaced but did not make a sound. He knew she had been trained not to make even those tiny, throaty whimpers. He dried her shoulder with his own tunic, then wrapped the dry wool around her shoulder. She flinched when he drew the fabric under her arm. While her eyes were closed, he took the moment to inspect the rest in the flickering fire light, and saw no less than a dozen bruises, some faded yellow, some a sickly purple-green, around her throat, her breasts, her thighs…

Loki would kill him, whoever it was.

From the leather pack, he drew out his only other belonging - a fresh, warm tunic. For her sake, he looked mostly at the ceiling as he dressed her. Then it was done.

She could not sit on her own, for bruises and running and blood loss. He lay on her other side, head on his crossed arms. "May I ask some questions now?"

Though she must have been tired, her eye lids did not flicker. She still watched, curled and scared. She nodded.

"Are you warm?"

A nod.

"Are you in much pain?"

More quickly, she shook her head.

He frowned. "I am not your Master. Please do not lie - you are in pain."

She blinked. Another nod.

"When this rain stops, will you come with me? I promise you will be safe."

Her eyebrows furrowed. She opened her mouth, tears welled as she could not tell him.

"It's all right. I have more standing in this realm than most, my father is Odin, I know you know me. Justice must be served for the King to be what he is, so please, trust that I do not lie."

For a moment, her face was still crumpled with distressed, but she closed her eyes to squeeze the tears away. She nodded.

She flinched as he reached over her, pulling the cloak from under her, gently, and over them both.

"You do not mind if I sleep here also? I could rest against the wall…?"

She shook her head, eyelids drooping. He hoped she felt safe, and was not simply giving in to fatigue. Perhaps it was both. Anger and a fierce protectiveness replaced the fire he would feel in his loins upon laying so close to a woman. Loki dared not touch her, for perhaps her own Master had began with gentle caresses. He hoped his body blocked the savage wind, and that he and the fire would keep her warm.

Loki felt himself close to sleep, but something had moved. He opened his eyes and saw that she now had her back to him. She had slipped out of the cloak so that her shuddering, silent sobs would not wake him. He doubted it was fear of him as much as it was pain, and relief. She heard him slide closer to her and the fire but couldn't stop trembling like a small animal with an arrow in its side. Gently, gently, Loki enveloped her with his grey wool cloak and arm, and on the cold, stone cave floor, she tucked her hands and feet in, nuzzling against his chest.

With a gentle hand, he stroked the back of her neck, fingers gently massaging her scalp, and soon she fell asleep.


End file.
